


Choosing Fate

by galactic-pirates (stillsearching47)



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29994363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillsearching47/pseuds/galactic-pirates
Summary: Some things are inevitable. In any world, in any reality, some people are just destined to meet. Always and forever; all roads lead to The Five.Youngest son Gregory Magnus trained as a doctor, intending to make his own way in life, never expecting to inherit his father’s title. However, in 1875, an accident makes him a Baron thus changing the life of his only daughter forever. Arranged marriages don’t exist outside of royalty but nothing says that a couple can’t be ‘introduced’ to one another. Desperate to secure Helen’s future Gregory accepts one such introduction with the nephew of a fellow Baron - Doctor James Watson.Helen accepts the match and still as veritable strangers they marry. When she moves into his home she finds that James’ old school friend John Druitt has bachelor’s quarters in the house. Soon she starts to believe two things are true: James married her to hide his ‘deviant’ relationship with John, and that she is growing to care for John as much as she is growing to care for James.
Relationships: Helen Magnus/James Watson, Montague John Druitt/Helen Magnus/James Watson, Montague John Druitt/James Watson
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _“I didn’t fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway.”_ \- Kiersten White, Chaos of Stars.

Bang. Helen jumped. Her head snapping over to the doorway of the library. She rose to her feet, placing the book she’d been reading onto the side table. That was the front door which had been slammed shut and her gut clenched. Brook, the manservant, would never have closed the door in such a manner, even in the face of extreme provocation. Her father on the other hand… more than once Gregory Magnus had returned from a meeting with the Royal College in a thundering temper. However, Helen wasn’t aware of any meeting today, or even of any scheduled appointments with patients, and she felt a faint prickle of unease.

Nervously she smoothed down the front of her blue dress, before adopting a determined expression. With purpose she headed out of the library and to her father’s study. If she knew her father, then she knew that he would have retreated there. Surprisingly the door to the study was open, Helen had expected it to be shut. She’d expected her father to be stomping about, taking his frustration out on his lack of a filing system by moving stacks of paper and books. However, he was very still. Gregory was sitting at his desk, a generous but untouched tumbler of whiskey in front of him.

Helen tapped gently on the door and he looked up, gesturing silently for her to come in. His complexion was ashen and Helen’s concern doubled. It hadn’t been anger that had made him slam the door, she didn’t know what it was, but something was terribly wrong.

“Father, whatever’s happened?” Helen asked.

Gregory gestured for her to sit on the chair in front of his desk. Helen sat, smoothing her skirts down. She folded her hands together in her lap as she had been taught, though the impulse to fidget was overwhelming. She was very much someone that liked to do, rather than sit and wait, action was always better than inaction in her book, especially when it came to fixing a problem.

“I’ve had some bad news my girl,” Gregory told her. “My father, my brother, his wife and their two boys were travelling to the continent. There was an accident. The ship … the details aren’t clear but they are all gone, all of them. Dead.”

“Oh father, I’m so sorry.”

Helen leant forward, reaching across the desk with her hand, covering her father’s hand with her own. He laid his other hand over the top of hers, and patted it gently. That certainly explained why her father was so pale, news of a tragedy would shock anyone to their core. Her father was the youngest of five children; three of his siblings had already died, his eldest sister in childbirth, with the babe not surviving either, his other sister had perished from an illness in infancy and his brother had been commissioned in the army and perished in the Crimean war. Now his only surviving sibling, his eldest brother, had also been lost.

Her father hadn’t been close to his family, Helen barely remembered ever meeting them. It wasn’t an estrangement, it was a matter of distance. They lived in Oxford, the main branch of the Magnus’ split their time between the town house in London and the country estate in Norfolk. Travel was onerous and they had their own lives. However, they were still family and now they were all gone. She was now the only family her father had left.

“It’s an awful tragedy,” Helen murmured. “I suppose … will you have to handle the arrangements?”

Gregory snorted. “I’ll have to handle more than that.”

Suddenly it dawned on Helen that it wasn’t grief that had caused her father to lash out, to bang the door closed on the messenger who had delivered the fateful news. His eyes were wide, and skittish - not grief but panic. She felt a shiver of apprehension because her father was unflappable: she had seen him angry, frustrated, annoyed, and she’d also seen him sad, when he’d lost a patient, or when he remembered her mother and mourned her anew. However, she had never ever once seen her father afraid.

“What is it father? There’s something else?” Helen asked gently.

He sighed and nodded once. “I’m the last Magnus, you and I are the last of the Magnus’. The estate and … and the title, it falls to me now and one day to you. Baron Magnus.”

Gregory breathed the last two words and Helen tensed. The fact that her grandfather was a peer had never really registered, that wasn’t their world. Her father had trained as a doctor, and had forged his own path as younger sons had to do.

She knew of society of course. Her father had indulged her academic aspirations, permitting her a broad and deep education, but he had also insisted she have a grounding in the topics females were traditionally educated in. She’d learned advanced mathematics and devoured medical texts in the morning; and a governess had taught her etiquette, needlepoint and other such socially desired skills in the afternoon.

Part of that social education had touched on the peerage and the role they played in society. Helen had always drowsed through those lessons, her mind occupied with topics she cared about far more, and belatedly she wished she’d paid more attention. As much as she wished she could say that the title of doctor had been earned, and was thus far more important than an inheritance her father had never expected to have, she wasn’t naive. She would like to deny it but what little she did remember suggested that their lives were about to dramatically change.

Her father had told her of abnormals earlier that year, of how he tried to help them, and understand them. From an optimistic perspective more money and influence could only help with that goal. Perhaps even, with a title, the Royal College might afford her father some of the respect he actually deserved. On the other hand they might shut their doors completely. Her father had forged his own path as a doctor because he was a younger son, if he had been the heir then he would have assisted his father with the estate.

The job of a Baron was managing the estate, which with all the business interests and employees could be vast. It wasn’t managing a home, it was managing a small empire. There was no need for a secondary profession, and certainly no time to pursue one. How would her father go on his expeditions now? How would he continue his work with abnormals? The quiet whisper at the back of her mind wondered about her work, her dreams, and she ruthlessly suppressed it. The Royal College wouldn’t deign to qualify her anyway, so what dreams were those?

“I’ll help you in any way I can father,” Helen offered, getting a tremulous smile in response.

It would be a difficult few weeks, making the funeral arrangements and settling the estate. Nobody ever liked dealing with a woman, but if she could ease her father’s burden and allow him some time to grieve she would. It was a senseless tragedy but they would get through it, just as they’d survived the loss of her mother.

* * *

Helen tapped on the study door, her father’s study now she supposed. The London Magnus house was now theirs. It had been a little over a month since the day they’d learned they were the last remaining Magnus’. They’d held a memorial service last week that had been well-attended, which was why they had come to London. Helen had listened as several people spoke of the family she’d never known.

She had felt awkward standing next to her father as he received condolences. Nobody had spoken to her of course, that would have been improper, but there had been many curious glances. Helen supposed that was because she was at her father’s side in the matter, a position that should have been her mother’s, if only she had lived.

“Helen, come in.” Gregory beckoned her in and gestured for her to sit in the chair in front of the desk. He looked tired, the strain showing around his eyes. “We have to talk.”

Helen stepped into the room, taking the offered seat. The room was very different from his study in their Oxford home. This study had been his father’s and the walls were barren in comparison. Paintings covered the walls, landscapes from the country, one of which depicted a hunting scene, Helen’s nose wrinkled at the sight. She missed the cosy shelves filled with books and trinkets. Her father hadn’t decided yet whether they would be moving to the London Magnus house permanently, or if they would return to their Oxford home.

She knew that her grandfather had split his time between London and the country estate in Norfolk, so it was plausible that they could do the same with Oxford. Truthfully Helen hoped that they would. The air in London carried an unpleasant odour even in the affluent neighbourhood of their townhouse. 

“Is something the matter?” Helen asked.

“That would rather depend on your point of view.” Gregory sighed, looking down at the mass of papers on his desk with a baleful eye.

Helen frowned, seeing the ornate lettering on the cards. They didn’t look like condolence cards but perhaps it was in style among the peerage. “Do you need help replying to the correspondence? I would be happy to copy out letters for you.”

A pained look crossed Gregory’s face. “It’s not that kind of correspondence Helen. They are invitations, the season has started in London and we are now part of the Ton.”

“Invitations?” Helen repeated.

Living in this area of London it had been impossible to miss the start of the season. She had been occupied at the time with assisting her father with the funeral arrangements, and with matters of the Magnus estate. The paper had carried an article marking the season’s start, when debutantes had been presented to the Royal Court. Helen remembered reading it with a sick feeling in her gut. She was twenty-five, past the age of being a debutante, and this had never been their world. She hadn’t been certain what that meant for her now her father was the Baron. When in doubt, turn to books, so she had researched it.

She was far too old to be considered a debutante, older ladies could be presented though there was a different protocol, but Helen hadn’t been certain whether she would have made the selection criteria anyway even with her father’s title. Girls were presented usually by their mother, or another female family member, and they had to have been presented themselves. Helen didn’t know anyone who had been presented to the Royal Court. Debutantes were supposed to be presented at the Royal Court before they could attend the season's events. However, her research had shown that not every girl was presented, there were those that didn’t fit the selection criteria but who had enough contacts to gain invitations to the events regardless.

Helen supposed that as invitations had arrived, that was what had happened.

“There are lots of events. Father’s man, Crispin, has informed me we don’t have to accept them all, but some are considered mandatory,” Gregory explained hesitantly. “Helen you are twenty-five.”

Hearing her own thoughts echoing from her father’s mouth was odd. The apprehension she had first felt on seeing her father’s panic, that fateful day last month, returned tenfold. Up until now she had focused on what implications the unexpected inheritance had for her father. She hadn’t wanted to think about what it meant for her. The Royal College might have refused to qualify her but she had never intended to give up. She had intended to keep on pushing forward academically and within the field of medicine.

It was a lonely life, women didn’t walk her path so she had no friends, and there had been no suitors, but it was the life she had chosen. It was the life she wanted for herself. Helen tried to shake off the feeling of impending doom because they were just talking about a handful of balls, or perhaps some afternoon garden parties. If they had to attend a couple it would hardly impact on much of their time. Even as she thought that, Helen wondered who she was trying to convince.

“I don’t see what my age has to-”

“Helen!” Gregory exclaimed. “My girl, you are brilliant, you can not be this obtuse. The Magnus title isn’t patriarchal, you can and will one day inherit. Surely you can see-”

“No father I can’t,” Helen said sharply, interrupting him this time, though the sinking feeling in her stomach said differently.

“You have to get married,” Gregory said bluntly. “More than that, you need to marry well and carefully. You need an appropriate husband, someone of status, but also someone that will accept that they are the consort. You will be the Baroness, they will never be the Baron. You need children, an heir.”

“Father!” Helen spluttered.

“I’m sorry Helen. I had thought that you had realised the situation had changed. Our lives can’t continue as they were,” Gregory said apologetically. “I had been content to let you make your own choices but now... perhaps if your mother was still with us you wouldn’t have followed my path so closely.”

Helen set her jaw, obstinance bubbling up, she felt as impotent and helpless as she had on receiving her second rejection from the Royal College. Marriage, of course it would come down to that. In this world, what was a woman without a man? That was what she was reduced to, that was all the value she had. She supposed it made sense. If her father had to give up his dreams to manage the estate, as heir did she not have the same duty?

Society women didn’t work, and they were held to an even higher standard. Refusing to conform to expectations could lead to more than raised eyebrows, and disapproving looks. If they were shunned by society, business partners could demand dissolution, or call in loans, or just vanish. The estate could be ruined and all those that depended on it would suffer. It wasn’t just about her, or her father, it was about everyone to whom the Magnus estate gave a livelihood.

“What do we need to do?” Helen asked hollowly.

Gregory looked down at the invitations, refusing to meet her eyes. “We’ll start attending events this season. We need to regardless because we have to start making connections. We are strangers to that world, and father’s contacts and the family name will only carry us for a time.”

“I understand,” Helen muttered, though she wondered if perhaps her father was now the one being obtuse.

He said she had to marry well but suitable offers were likely to be thin on the ground. She was twenty-five, practically an old maid, and there was a new crop of debutantes every year. She hadn’t been raised in society and everything in her rebelled against the idea of changing herself. She had a mind, and opinions of her own, and what man would want that for a wife? Someone who was older, who perhaps didn’t want a bride that was barely more than a child. More likely someone who wanted the Magnus name and fortune to back their own endeavours.

One day she would be a Baroness but she’d still just be a woman, and therefore still be expected to submit to her husband.

Gregory eyed her critically. “You’ll need a new wardrobe.”

Helen glanced down at her dress. Somehow she didn’t think a new ballgown would magically solve their situation.

* * *

Her first event of the season was a ball hosted by the Earl of Abingdon. Her father’s familiar and reassuring presence at her side was all that was keeping her from bolting back out of the double doors, calling for their carriage and retreating back to their London home. Helen had always thought she was brave; she’d unflinchingly fought several battles against those who felt women had no place in medicine. However, belatedly she realised it was easy to fight for something she believed in, far harder to summon the courage to continue something in which she didn’t truly believe.

She was here by necessity. The Magnus estate was vast, directly and through investment in various businesses they provided the livelihood for hundreds. If the estate fell into disrepute all of those people would potentially suffer, so she had to do what was expected of her. Helen glanced down at her new cream ball gown. It had a full skirt, glass beading which caught the light, lace stitching. It had been frightfully expensive, which she’d baulked at at the time but casting her eyes around the room, she was grateful she’d listened to the dressmaker. In clothing at least she wasn’t out of place.

Helen took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, raising her chin, she set her jaw. Whatever came, she would deal with it, she was Helen Magnus and something as frivolous as a ball wasn’t going to beat her. She wouldn't let it. She took another deep breath and scanned her eyes over the room. There were knots of people talking, providing a low hum of noise, the string quartet in the corner fortunately rose above the hubbub. It was a good constant noise to focus on, rather than the scattered conversations.

For the most part it looked like mothers standing near their daughters, chaperoning, and Helen’s heart twisted. Her mother had been gone almost two decades but, especially in moments like this, she missed her fiercely. Some of the girls were talking with men, prospective suitors most likely. Internally she winced as a very loud, very fake sounding laugh rent the air. Her eyes snapped over, and her lips twitched with amusement, at the daggers the mother was firing at the daughter who looked a bit abashed. Her suitor though was chuckling and Helen imagined that he’d told a joke, and the girl had overreacted in her eagerness to please.

A few older gentlemen like her father clustered together on the edges of the room. Helen wasn’t sure of the protocol, given her age and that her father was the one who was accompanying her. Was he supposed to stay by her side?

“Perhaps a drink?” Gregory suggested awkwardly.

Belatedly Helen realised they’d been lingering just inside the entrance. Her neck prickled but she resisted the urge to look behind her, to see if they’d been holding up the line. It was just difficult. Her etiquette lessons hadn’t really prepared her for this situation. She had a lot of individual skills, for instance she felt competent at dancing if anyone asked, but it was the environment which was throwing her off. Mentally she’d prepared for professional events, where the attendees would be fellow doctors, or lawyers, or merchants - people she could make conversation with.

She had no idea what high society cared to discuss and she despised feeling so uncertain. She prized her competence. Well she supposed she would just have to master this arena as she had mastered all others. This out of her depth feeling didn’t have to last.

Her father escorted her over to the refreshment table where she was served a tiny glass of lemonade. Helen wrinkled her nose, she wasn’t a big drinker by any means, but something stronger wouldn’t have gone amiss.

“Lord Magnus, Miss Magnus.” the gentleman nodded respectfully. He was younger than her father, but already going bald, just a thin circle of dark hair surrounding his glistening dome.

Helen shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat, nudging her father discreetly with her elbow. Her father looked like a deer facing a hunting rifle. She wracked her mind for how introductions were supposed to go, but she didn’t believe she’d been taught the etiquette where the stranger knew your name, but you didn’t know theirs.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” Helen said sweetly, offering her hand.

He took it, kissing the back of it politely. Helen hid her grimace, and resisted the urge to wipe her hand against her dress. It was warm in here from all the assembled guests, but the man was practically dripping with sweat.

“Robertson, my father is the Baron Wharton,” Robertson introduced. “I hope that you’ll do me the honor of saving me a dance.”

“Of course.” Helen smiled, her heart sinking.

She held out her blank dance card for him to mark and a pleased look crossed his face, when he saw its state.

“Perhaps the honor of this dance.” Robertson gestured to the dancefloor, the song was just ending and couples were moving on or off the floor, or changing partners.

“Delighted,” Helen said tightly, her smile was rather fixed, as she let him take her hand and lead her out onto the dancefloor.

“My condolences on the death of your grandfather, uncle and family,” Robertson said. “Must have been a terrible shock.”

“Yes,” Helen murmured.

“Still it got you into the Ton.” Robertson gave a bark of laughter. “You are quite beautiful. Such a shame. You don’t have a younger sister do you?”

Helen swallowed, trying to keep her incredulity off her face. “Only child I’m afraid.”

“Drat, although I suppose there’s something to be said of being a woman of the world.” Robertson smiled oily and his hand slipped down an inch.

“I’m sorry I do believe my father’s calling for me,” Helen said swiftly, stepping away from him.

The song wasn’t over so it was probably a breach of etiquette but Robertson had been courting scandal as it was. Truthfully he was fortunate she hadn’t slapped him. As hastily as decorum permitted Helen moved back over to join her father. He looked at her with concern and she lightly shook her head, urging him not to say anything. In her absence her father had found another gentleman, who was perhaps a decade or so older than him, to talk with. He was portly, with steel grey hair and a millimeter perfect mustache.

“Lord Gerard, the Viscount Brandon, my daughter Helen Magnus,” Gregory introduced.

“Pleasure my dear,” Gerard boomed. He eyed her critically and Helen straightened, tensing under the scrutiny. “You are pleasing to be sure, you’ll make somebody a lovely wife with those child-bearing hips.” He chortled and elbowed Gregory, who pasted a weak smile on at the joke.

Helen didn’t bother instead ducking her head, and mumbling her excuses, she gathered her skirts and fled to yet another area of the hall. She felt eyes on her, the knots of young debutantes, whispering behind their hands and giggling quietly. Finding a quieter corner she faced the wall and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, before taking a deep breath and turning back to the ball.

Ladies gossiped, eyes were attracted to movement, just because they were looking at her didn’t mean they were talking about her. Oh some people would be talking, because they were new arrivals, veritable unknowns among the Ton and anything new would be talked about. However, they were at the bottom of the pecking order, and a Barony changing hands would be old news within the week.

It just rankled that this was what she was reduced to - she was almost a trained doctor, but the only value she had tonight was as a breeding mare at the marriage mart. She had known that before they’d even got into the carriage to journey here tonight. Helen knew she’d been blessed with her mother’s beauty, but the attribute she’d always valued most was her mind. On occasion she’d thought about what she’d like in a suitor, and respect for her mind was top of the list.

“Miss Magnus,” an elderly man approached, even older than the Viscount Brandon. He had wispy grey hair and was slightly shorter than her. “FitzRoy, Viscount Falmouth, eldest son of His Grace the Duke of Northumberland.”

“My lord.” Helen nodded respectfully.

“Are you engaged for the next dance?” FitzRoy asked.

“I am not,” Helen replied, offering her hand.

FitzRoy took it and led her out onto the dancefloor. “Do you know of my family Miss Magnus?”

“No,” Helen admitted hesitantly.

She knew that she was probably supposed to know everybody. That was how everyone knew her name, they had memorized everybody else and as the strangers, their identity was thus confirmed. However, her ignorance went far beyond not knowing the faces to match to the names, she didn’t recognise any of the names either. Something which in the status conscious Ton was probably practically blasphemous.

“I was married and was blessed with two sons. My eldest joined the church and his brother passed last year,” FitzRoy explained, as they waltzed. “My wife is too old to give me another heir, and is now also no longer with us. You see my situation.”

“Yes?” Helen said, more questioningly than intended, as her brow furrowed and she puzzled on the rather obvious question. How exactly did his wife die?

“Then it’s settled. You won’t object if I speak with your father?” FitzRoy arched an eyebrow in question.

Helen blinked, eyes wide. “My lord we’ve only just met.”

“And I do not have the time to waste,” FitzRoy countered, in a reasonable tone. “Otherwise I wouldn’t lower myself to a mere Baron’s daughter. Too many debutantes like to take the time to consider their offers, I do not have the patience, and someone in your position, well you can hardly afford to wait.”

“I-” Helen started, she moved to step back but found his grip was completely proper, but also far too tight to break without struggling and making a scene.

“Now, now my dear we’re not done,” FitzRoy murmured. “I have heard some dreadful rumours about you, that you trained as a doctor? Well as part of my household they’ll be no mention of that. If you must occupy yourself there’s the garden, my first wife rather liked that.”

“Then you should speak with my father,” Helen choked out.

A look of satisfaction stole across FitzRoy’s face and blessedly he released his hold, escorting her to the edge of the dancefloor, before nodding and taking his leave. Helen excused herself to find the ladies room, her hands were shaking and she wasn’t certain whether it was anger or fear - probably both. She knew her father, and she knew he would never accept such an offer, son of a Duke or not, that wasn’t why she was afraid.

She was afraid because this was their first event, and logic said that would be when she’d garner the most notice and therefore the most interest. Was her age truly so off-putting? There were dozens of young men of similar age to herself, but she hadn’t been approached by a single one. Helen shook her head, trying to banish the creeping despair. It hadn’t even been half an hour, the night was still young, and this was her first event. She just had to network, perhaps engineer a meeting with a likely looking young man herself rather than wait to be approached.

All was not lost quite yet. She needed to have faith. Surely not every gentleman of the Ton could be like the handful she’d had the displeasure of meeting tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

As the son of a Baron, Gregory Magnus could have been attending events like this until his marriage. Indeed, if he’d attended events like this he might have made a society match and perhaps been permitted to continue attending. Untitled family members were usually left off the invitation list after marriage so that would have depended on the status of his wife. Instead he’d married his darling Patricia, who was worth the moon and the stars in his eyes, but as a merchant's daughter had no status among the nobility. He didn’t regret a single moment with Patricia, his only regret was that she was gone.

Gregory sighed, his eyes falling once more on Helen. She’d inherited her looks from her mother, and looked an absolute picture in the new pale blue ballgown. In his eyes she didn’t just fit in with the ladies of the Ton, she far outshined them all. However, even from across the room he could see how uncomfortable she looked, standing stiffly on the edge of the dancefloor. The phrase ‘fish out of water’ came to mind.

In front of her there was a riot of colour: a swirl of dresses, and dark frock coats, twirling under the elaborate chandelier. The band played in the corner, their fingers and hands a blur against their instruments, as servants weaved unobtrusively between the gathered groups. He’d observed from his corner that two gentleman had marked her dance card, and Helen hadn’t managed to hide her distaste for either of them.

If this had been their first event then Gregory wouldn’t have been so concerned but it was their fourth. The season was well underway and there were already rumours of several matches. At twenty-five Helen was already considered an old maid, a fact of which more than one of his new peers had already taken note. He’d had two offers for her hand, one of which had required all his self-control to refuse politely, and both of which had increased his level of desperation.

They couldn’t wait another season, Helen couldn’t be another year older. He needed to find her a suitable husband, he had to secure her future before the disgusting offers were the only choice … if it wasn’t already too late.

“The _honorable_ Marcus Talbot.”

Gregory raised an eyebrow at his drinking partner, Baron Edgar Watson. They didn’t currently have any business dealings but that would likely change over the next few months. Most of the nobility reminded him of those on the board of the Royal College, not favourably; it was very much polite to your face, and talk insults behind your back. He’d quickly gravitated to the blunt and honest Edgar, finding a man with a similar distaste for politics as his own, but also someone very astute who understood the interpersonal dynamics from long experience.

His father had left notes, observations about most of the noble houses. The Watson’s hadn’t merited more than two words: wealthy non-entities had been how his father had described them. They had money but nothing else of note. Just showed that Gregory wasn’t his father, the previous Baron Magnus would have been holding court somewhere by now, he had loved all the politicking as had his older brother. Due to their different styles the Magnus alliances had already started shifting.

“The last man to dance with your daughter.” Edgar shrugged. “His father might be an Earl but if half the stories are true…”

“He didn’t appear to make a favourable impression,” Gregory noted with a sigh.

If Talbot was unsuitable then he was unsuitable. He just despaired at finding a suitable match of any kind. If only Helen would show an interest in at least one of the gentlemen at these events.

Edgar’s eyes sharpened. “You know old boy I have a nephew: twenty-seven, unattached, a doctor no less.”

Gregory tensed, and gave Edgar a wary glance. His friend had never mentioned this nephew before, and suddenly he was considering their fortuitous ‘friendship’ in a new light. He thought himself a good judge of character but the politics of the Royal College paled next to those of the Ton. He was very much an amateur finding himself entered into a professional league. Gregory didn’t think he’d misjudged Watson but he started wracking his brain for possible ulterior motives anyway.

Regardless, it was the best offer he’d received so far, at least this nephew was Helen’s age. He would at least hear Edgar out.

“Is he here tonight?” Gregory asked nonchalantly.

“Oh no.” Edgar chuckled lightly. “My brother’s son, so he’s never attended these ghastly events. I know a nephew is not the same as a son, but he should still be acceptable to the grand dames that pass judgement on these matters.”

“You’ve not mentioned him before,” Gregory observed casually.

Edgar raised his hands, a wry smile on his face. “No ulterior motive Magnus I swear. I don’t think of my nephew often, but I opened a letter from my sister-in-law this morning, so I guess that is what prompted me to remember him. My brother passed when he was still a boy but he left them well-provided for, James had the finest education. An introduction perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Gregory allowed.

He was still very uncertain but the practicalities of his situation demanded he accept. Helen would still have the final say, while he despaired that she would ever make a suitable choice he would not force her to marry someone against her will. Gregory wasn’t naive, he knew that still frequently happened, but Patricia wouldn’t have stood for it. Even if he was tempted because it would be best for Helen, the thought of his wife would stop him, he wouldn’t disrespect her memory.

An introduction didn’t commit them to anything. It wasn’t an arrangement, it was just a conversation. Allowing two people to meet, who might not otherwise have crossed paths. Edgar’s dubious motives aside, yes this was an opportunity he couldn’t refuse.

“If he’s agreeable we could make an appointment for him to call,” Gregory continued.

“Excellent.” Edgar clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll write him a letter in the morning.”

* * *

It likely wasn’t true in many houses, but in the Watson household breakfast was a peaceful time of day, and quite a formulaic one. As was his habit Doctor James Watson had a bowl of porridge and a side of crispy bacon. The sound of cutlery against the china, and the rustle of the paper, was all that broke the silence. His old school friend, John Druitt, had eggs and bacon with his toast, and they both had steaming cups of tea.

Neither of them were particularly fond of early starts, their evenings stretched far too late for that to be the case. It usually wasn’t until the lingering second cup of tea, after breakfast had been consumed, that they started to talk, reminding each other of their various plans for the day.

“Sir the post has arrived,” Harris, the wizened butler who had entered service with James’ grandfather, presented the tray of letters.

James leafed through them, checking the postmarks to see if there was anything of immediate interest. Most of it looked like business correspondence but there was one letter that bore the seal of his uncle, the Baron Watson. James plucked it from the tray.

“Thank you Harris, if you would take the rest to my office,” James instructed kindly.

He used his breakfast knife to slit the envelope, something which would have horrified his mother, but it was practical and he was curious. His uncle didn’t write to him often, just the usual expected well-wishes on his birthday and at christmas. Occasionally he would pass on information about a business opportunity. James wondered what it was this time.

It wasn’t a business opportunity, not exactly.

“Bad news?” John asked.

James breathed out, staring at the letter in his hand. He re-read the lines again but they didn’t change. “Not exactly,” he said slowly.

His eyes flickered to the door, it wasn’t completely shut but their conversation should be private enough. There was a routine to the day and nobody usually interrupted them again, until after they had left the dining room having finished with breakfast.

“My uncle wishes me to meet a young lady of his acquaintance, an introduction he calls it,” James said. He met John’s eyes, seeing the slight etch of confusion in the creases around his eyes. James sighed. “Marriage John, he’s talking about marriage.”

“To a girl you haven’t met?” John gave a bark of laughter. “I didn’t think anyone other than royalty was arranged these days.”

“An introduction isn’t an arrangement but it could lead to one,” James admitted reluctantly. “He points out my age, my eligibility, talks about my reputation…”

All traces of humour left John’s expression. They hadn’t talked about this before but neither of them were naive. It wasn’t a secret that his old school friend, John Druitt, rented bachelor’s quarters in his house. That was a perfectly respectable arrangement at this point in their lives. However, if neither of them ever married then people would start to talk. Even without any evidence, just the circumstances would make people suspect they had ‘deviant’ inclinations. James minutely shook his head at the thought. He really didn’t think there was anything deviant about his relationship with John. Were they lovers? Absolutely. Was that wrong? Definitely not. Unfortunately society didn’t share that view.

James knew his mother wanted him settled and his perpetual bachelorhood worried her. She wanted him to have a wife to take care of him and had probably expressed such wishes to his uncle. From James’ perspective he had no need to marry in order to continue his line. His uncle was the Baron and his son had already married and beget a son, the Watson name would carry on without his contribution. He could will his estate to his cousins, it was only really his reputation which would suffer, well and potentially his business interests.

“You know how people talk,” James added.

“Yes,” John sighed heavily, his expression turning dark.

They’d just graduated the first time they’d crossed the line between friends and lovers. They’d had far too much to drink, they’d been young and foolhardy and James would forever be grateful for that. If they hadn’t met until they were older … well James didn’t think that either of them would have dared. Sex between men wasn’t punishable by the death penalty anymore, just ten years in prison, but it might as well still be the death penalty. If they were ever caught their lives would be over.

There were always those who wanted leverage in business dealings. If there were whispers of ‘deviance’ then somebody could look for proof, and as the whispers were true they might find it. There was a certain amount of paranoia in that thought but it was an unfortunately logical possibility. Society gossip could be damaging in many ways. On the other hand if he married, then there would be no reason for speculation. Their reputations would remain intact.

“Marriage can be a shield,” James pointed out.

John grimaced. “I’m not disagreeing, old boy. I understand the sense of it, but sharing our lives with… that is if we even could. If you marry this will become your marital home. It would be improper to continue renting bachelors quarters to an old friend.”

“I don’t think that there’s protocol one way or the other,” James said diffidently. John arched a disbelieving eyebrow and James shrugged helplessly. “If I agreed to wed I would have to detail my estate for the girl’s father, I would present your habitation as a non-negotiable condition. Tell him I owe you a life debt perhaps.”

“A life debt?” John gave a low chuckle. “Yes I’m sure he wouldn’t find that suspicious at all.”

“I’d make it work somehow,” James said firmly. “As for any potential bride, they would have to be suitable. I have as little interest as you do in sharing our lives with some vapid socialite whose only interest is fashion and needlepoint.”

“Don’t forget music,” John smirked. “I remember reading in the paper the article on the start of the season, it made a lot of how more was demanded of young ladies these days.”

“Yes, quite,” James said crisply, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he snorted and shook his head.

Debutantes were molded into what their mothers believed made them perfect wives, and perhaps for many men that was true but that wasn’t what James wanted. He felt sorry for them in a way, as they were encouraged to suppress what made them individuals in order to broaden their appeal. Their entire purpose in life was to marry, raise children, any daughters of which would be raised to do the exact same. He couldn’t see the sense in it.

Likely any lady of his uncle's acquaintance would be very much cast in this mold. This daughter of Baron Magnus, was no doubt therefore entirely unsuitable for him, but she had done one thing at least - she’d started the conversation. Society was an inconvenient fact that both he and John were guilty of avoiding. He was twenty-seven, whether he liked it or not, he should probably start searching for a wife in earnest.

“So we’re in agreement?” James checked. “I’ll accept this introduction.”

John shrugged. “You should do that regardless, no sense in angering your uncle.” He sighed and lowered his head in acquiescence. “But yes, I suppose a woman’s touch around here wouldn’t go amiss.”

James breathed a sigh of relief and reached over, briefly squeezing John’s hand. This wasn’t easy for either of them. They might not have said it out loud, but what they both knew to be true, was that in an impossible parallel world where relationships between men were as accepted as those between men and women, that they would have married each other. Deep down James knew that he’d already found the love of his life, he just couldn’t marry him.

* * *

Helen felt like she was in a storm. The image of the wind battering the grounds; swirling the leaves and the rain around and around, and then dashing it all against the side of the house, was indelibly printed on her mind. That is what her emotions felt like right now, a swirling maelstrom that changed by the second.

Mostly she felt this unnatural calm. The situation was, what it was, and being hysterical had never solved anything. She attacked problems logically, dismantling difficult projects and tackling them piece by piece until she had achieved her goal. This was no different except everything about it was different. Her father had invited a man to call on the house, for her to evaluate as a potential husband.

She was determined to keep an open mind. She knew nothing about this Doctor James Watson, beyond that he was a doctor which was admittedly a promising start. However, if he was anything like the men she’d met at all the recent society events, this would be a very short meeting. Except she knew that she couldn’t afford for that to be the case. Every ball her father insisted they attend was a fresh torment. Had he not heard the whispers, or did he think that _she_ hadn’t heard them?

The kindest remark Helen had heard was that she had been ‘left on the shelf’. When her father had first broached the subject of marriage she had known it wouldn’t be easy to find a suitable match. However, knowing something and experiencing it turned out to be very different beasts. The rising panic in her chest was her constant companion these days, and getting harder to contain. She’d hoped spending the hour before Doctor Watson’s arrival in the library, surrounded by books, might calm her but she hadn’t been able to concentrate enough to read a single page.

“Helen,” her father called through the door. “Doctor Watson has arrived.”

“I’ll be right there,” Helen told him, hearing his footsteps move away from the door.

She took a deep breath, trying to quell the tightness in her chest. It was just a conversation, by walking through the door and meeting him she wasn’t committing to anything. This was an introduction, nothing more. She still had a choice, a chance to find a different match if James Watson was unsuitable. Helen nodded decisively to herself and purposefully moved to the door, she opened it smartly and stepped outside, not letting herself hesitate for even one more moment.

Helen moved through the house to the parlour. Trepidation made her freeze two steps from the doorway but she forced herself to take those last steps. Her father, and presumably James Watson, were standing in front of the fire. It wasn’t lit, it was the wrong season for that, but habit often made her father stand there. He liked to watch the flames, he said it helped him think. Maud must have just been in, as there was a steaming pot of tea on the table in front of the two wingback armchairs.

Both men turned on her entrance and so Helen got her first good look at James Watson. He looked to be a couple of inches taller than her, with short unruly dark hair, a full beard and brown eyes. Her first impression was that he looked kind, he smiled on seeing her and his cheeks dimpled. Yes, he had a nice smile, she would grant him that.

“Doctor James Watson, my daughter Helen,” Gregory introduced weakly.

Helen’s eyes flickered over to him, her father looked pained, but then this was a new situation for all of them. She held out her hand and James took it, pressing a light kiss to the back of it.

“Pleasure to meet you Doctor Magnus,” James said warmly, releasing her hand.

“I’m not actually licensed,” Helen admitted, feeling the fresh burn from having to say that.

She should be a doctor by now but the Royal College had refused because she was a woman, or because she was a Magnus, perhaps both. They would never qualify her now, given her future as a Baroness, and the bitterness tasted like ash in her mouth. Although she was surprised that Doctor Watson knew to address her like that, perhaps her father had told him of the training he had given her.

“A technicality I’ve heard,” James said easily. “Would you care for some tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” Helen accepted, moving to take a seat in one of the armchairs.

That really should have been her question, as this was her home, but it seemed that Doctor Watson was trying to put her at ease.

“Would you like a cup father?” Helen asked.

“No,” Gregory answered slowly, his eyes flickering between them. “I’ll be outside. I trust you won’t abuse my hospitality Doctor Watson.”

James inclined his head in acknowledgement, and her father left the parlour, leaving the door wide open for the sake of propriety. Technically leaving them alone to talk was unconventional but the situation was awkward enough as it was, having her father stare at them as they attempted conversation would have made it worse. Besides Helen knew that whatever happened next was her choice. Her father would respect her decision. James poured her a cup of tea, leaving her the milk and sundries to adjust for taste, before pouring his own.

“I presume you get the medical journals. Did you read the latest opinion piece by Holburn? What did you think?”

Helen’s eyes narrowed, was this a test of some kind? “I thought it was poorly researched and the conclusion was a ridiculous stretch. Clearly Holburn had decided what answer he wanted, and was desperate for his experiment to confirm it.”

“Which it didn’t.” James chuckled. “Yes I thought it was a load of tosh too. Though in the same journal Green’s piece on the benefits of heroin was interesting.”

“Don’t tell me you agreed with him?” Helen arched an eyebrow. “I’ve seen those sick after discontinuing its use. It seems to me it carries far more dangers than it does benefits.”

“I think the key is moderation,” James mused. “Too much of anything can have negative effects. I don’t think we can dismiss the benefits it offers because of the cost to those who have over-indulged. However, I take your point, it certainly warrants further study. There will almost certainly be a rebuttal in the next journal issue.”

“Then I will read it with interest,” Helen said.

James smiled again and Helen felt a smile form on her face in return. She had detected no hint of contempt or superiority in his tone. He’d asked for her opinion, he’d listened to what she’d said, and even when he’d disagreed he’d been respectful. Now it was true he could be being particularly conciliatory in order to earn her favour, but Helen’s instinct was that he was being sincere. Certainly the men she’d met at all the recent balls hadn’t bothered to hide their dismay at her academic interests, and had talked all over her when she’d tried to express her opinion.

“Do you get much time for reading fiction? What would you say is your favourite book?” Helen asked.

“Well,” James leaned forward. “That would be between…”

Helen nodded as he spoke. Time passed and the conversation flowed remarkably easily. They moved from literature to plays, they swapped Shakespeare quotes, and then somehow got on to art. That didn’t last long but it led them into travel. Neither of them had been much further than England. Helen had asked her father if she could accompany him on one of his expeditions but he’d never agreed, and James had only been to Paris, but they had both read of the wonders of the world. Their list of the places they most wanted to visit differed slightly and they’d debated about the various merits of locations.

It was a surprise when the clock chimed and Helen realised they’d been talking for almost an hour. As much as she’d told herself that she was keeping an open mind, Helen had thought that she would take a dislike to Doctor Watson. It had seemed inevitable given all her recent experience with meeting men. However, she had found him brilliant and respectful. He gave her space and time to talk, he asked for her opinion and actually listened, giving thoughtful responses. Helen also had to admit that after spending an hour with him, it wasn’t just his smile that she thought was nice. James really was rather handsome.

“I suppose I should leave you to the rest of your day,” James said regretfully. “I enjoyed our conversation. Perhaps we could have tea again?”

“Perhaps we could make an arrangement,” Helen countered.

James blinked and Helen realised what she’d said. In the context they were meeting, as an introduction, the word arrangement meant marriage. She really should have said appointment if she was agreeing to tea, but what had she been intending? It was much too fast to accept the match after just an hour of conversation. However, Helen knew they were lucky to have had that. She’d observed enough at the balls to know matches were often made after bare minutes of conversation during dances, or from the odd stolen moment.

She had to marry, that was an irrefutable fact. The longer she waited, the less prospects she would have, that was another absolute fact. James seemed decent, he was well-read, an intellectual who considered himself a scientist, he was her age. Quite frankly she could do a lot worse. It was madness to accept the match but it would be folly to let him slip through her fingers. A man like James Watson wouldn’t stay unattached for much longer.

“You mean make arrangements for me to call again? Or an _arrangement_?” James checked.

Helen’s heart clenched, and she forced herself to take slower breaths. Her heart was racing. She held her hands tightly together in her lap, it was an effort to remain still. This was right, more than that it was necessary. She raised her chin, looking at him defiantly.

“I meant what I said Doctor Watson. You came for the introduction, I am content to accept the match.”

James looked poleaxed but after a moment he started to nod thoughtfully. “Yes. Certainly if the past hour is any indication I believe we could be happy together. You know if we are to marry you should call me James.”

“Very well, James.” Helen’s lips curved into a smile. “I will ask my father to join us. There is much to discuss.”


End file.
